Spell of the Paradox
by NeedANewPen
Summary: Hermione Granger finds herself sent back to 1977. Will she be able to finish the seventh year she never got to complete while trying not to destroy her own timeline? How much of the past is still malleable, and how many of the effects of her actions were always destined to happen? And even more importantly- will she be able to resist her growing feelings for a certain lycanthrope?
1. Chapter 1

_Another conversation with no destination_

 _Another battle never won_

 _And each side is a loser_

 _So who cares who fired the gun?_

' _ **St. Jude', Florence and the Machine**_

"Well, Miss Granger, I can not say that I am entirely surprised to see you back already," Headmistress Minerva McGonagall said with a slight smile on her face as she leaned forward onto her arms which rested on her desk, looking closer at her former student. "What exactly is it that you need out of the forest?"

Hermione smiled at her professor, not realizing until this moment just how much she'd missed the Scottish woman. While hardly _loving_ , Minerva McGonagall had been a firm and unshaking presence in Hermione's life. An example of a strong woman who'd managed to survive two brutal wars in order to protect those that she cared for.

"I can't remember if I told you in my last letter or not Professor, but I'd like to open my own apothecary. I always loved Potions, despite Professor Snape's attitude towards teaching it. But Slug and Jigger's still isn't operating at peak capacity, and it doesn't look like Mr. Mulberry has any intention of coming back from the continent anytime soon. I heard that you're hoping to have the school back up and running at full functionality in September, and I was thinking that I could harvest some ingredients from the forest and begin preparing now for the school rush. If Professor Sprout is around, I was also going to ask her if I could take some cuttings so that I could start my own garden so I wouldn't have to rely on other people's generosity indefinitely."

Minerva smiled inwardly, briefly wondering if Hermione had taken a single breath during all of that explaining. With any luck, Hermione's ambitions could prove to be a boon for the school and a weight off of Minerva's back.

"As I am quite sure you know, Miss Granger, we so rarely take advantage of the resources that the forest could provide. I am more than willing to allow you to go out into the forest to harvest ingredients for your apothecary, but I have a couple of questions for you before you go.

"Miss Granger, have you already purchased the physical space for your shop?"

Hermione colored slightly and suddenly found herself quite interested in the pattern of her teacup. "Well, not as of yet. However, Molly has given me permission to start a greenhouse over near their shed to start growing in, and Harry is going to let me turn the basement in Grimmauld into a lab. I've been looking, but there's so much checking into survivors to be done still. The Ministry wants to make sure that there aren't any people out there with valid claims to properties before they begin to just sell them off."

This time, Minerva McGonagall smiled widely, and for the first time Hermione saw a clear resemblance between the Transfiguration professor and her animagus form.

"Then I may have another idea for you. As you undoubtedly know, we have had quite a hard time filling some of our vacant positions on the staff. One position that sorely needs filling—and needs to be filled by someone quite competent—is that of Potions Master. Or possibly, Mistress, as it may. Horace has decided that it is time for him to re-retire. If you are interested, I would like to have you join the Hogwarts family as our newest staff member."

Hermione let out an uncharacteristic shriek and almost dropped her teacup. The portrait of Albus Dumbledore was smiling down at her, and the portrait of Severus Snape managed to look almost… pleased?

"I would love to! I can't believe—I mean, I'd always hoped that—I just—I have—Oh thank you!"

McGonagall chuckled and walked around the desk to hug her new coworker. "Anyone who knows you knows how much you cherish academia, and hopefully you will be able to instill in your pupils the same love of learning that you possess. You truly have no idea how much of a weight off of my shoulder it is to have you on board. I was certainly starting to get worried about who I would be able to find to fill the position suitably. It is already July and you were one of the only people on my short list that I trusted completely."

Knowing that someone like Minerva McGonagall held that much faith in her was one of the most inspiring things that could have happened for Hermione. She was about to thank her former professor again when she thought of something that wiped the smile off of her face.

"But Professor, I didn't attend my seventh year—I don't have any NEWTS. How could I possibly begin teaching Potions if I don't even have a NEWT in it?"

Minerva's smile didn't abate in the slightest, and a twinkle eerily reminiscent of Dumbledore appeared in her eyes. "Do not worry about that, Miss Granger. I am quite sure that will not be a problem. It will be sorted out by the time that school begins. Is that your only reservation?"

Hermione nodded, wanting to ask exactly how it would all be 'sorted out', but ultimately deciding against it.

"Good, my dear. Now, when would you be able to start cleaning up in the lab and Master's Quarters? They haven't been touched since the battle, so they are all just as Severus left them."

Hermione glanced down at her watch and saw that it was only half ten. She'd been planning on immediately going out into the forest or immediately taking cuttings from plants in the greenhouse, so there was no reason she couldn't immediately take a look at her new quarters.

"I could start now, I suppose. I'd already cleared my schedule for this afternoon and evening so I don't have anything planned."

Minerva smiled at her again, and the door to the headmistress' office clicked open. A wave of anticipation welled in Hermione's chest, and she gathered her coat and bag before quickly finishing her cup of cooled tea.

"Thank you Professor. I'm so very excited to get started. Oh, I'll have to clean out and catalogue the store room, and make sure that the supplies are all cleaned. I'd like to try to repair all of the books in the class set, and—"

"Oh yes, Hermione. I am sure you will have rather a lot to do. I will let you get straight to it. I still need to try to find a suitable Defense professor. I trust you still know your way down?"

Hermione nodded and quickly headed through the door. She'd been gone barely five seconds before her head popped back into the Headmistress' sight.

"Professor, I don't know how I could ever begin to thank you for this opportunity."

"Hermione," McGonagall began, refilling her own teacup. "You can repay me by doing two things. First, I would like you to give this the same consideration and focus that you give everything else. Of this, I have no doubt that you will succeed. Second, I would like you call me Minerva."

Hermione's grin widened, and she couldn't help the laugh that came from her. "Well, _Minerva_ , I will be sure not to disappoint. I'll be off, then."

" _Miss Granger,"_ a deep voice called from the wall above the headmistress' desk. Minerva couldn't help but jump at the sound of the voice. In all of the time that the portrait had hung on the wall, she hadn't heard a single word from it—despite anything she said to it first.

Hermione seemed equally shocked, and came back into the room fully.

"Yes, Professor?"

"I will walk you down to the dungeons."

The portrait made its way through the other frames on the walls of Minerva's office and came to a stop in the landscape of the highlands that sat at the top of the stairs leading in.

"I will meet you at the bottom, Miss Granger," he said before disappearing from the frame.

"I'll see you there, Professor Snape," Hermione replied with a slightly panicked look to Minerva who ushered her to hurry down.

…

The walk to the dungeons was silent—or near enough to it.

Severus Snape, even in death, did not seem to wish to waste his time with "mindless chatter". Every now and then, Hermione would comment quietly about a change to the massive castle that had occurred during renovations, or about something that she was surprised had been repaired so well. He walked with her like a shadow, never saying a word but following her movements down the levels as well as he could with the gaps in the portraits' frames.

Finally, she arrived at the entrance to the potions lab. She rested an open palm on the thick wooden door, taking a moment to remember the first time she'd opened this door and what had been waiting for her within. The words quickly came back to her as though he were saying them again, even though she knew there were no portraits in this corridor and he had to be either waiting inside or must have retreated back to the Headmistress' office.

" _You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making... I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death."_

Her eyes slid closed and she fought back tears. He hadn't been a nice man, but he'd been a good one. Petty and vindictive, but the man had given his life for the future of the very children who he ensured held nothing but hatred for him.

Opening her eyes and squaring her shoulders, she pushed the door open.

…

The classroom was exactly as she'd remembered it. Cold and cavernous, with rows of desks with cauldrons just waiting to be heated, although the air was dusty and stale with disuse. She could smell a slight odor coming from the supplies closet, alerting her to the fact that some of the ingredients had turned. Knowing that the closet had a powerful shielding charm on it—in the case of a potions mishap, the last thing that one wanted was a chain reaction—she avoided it for now. It would take many air purifying charms and possibly a fire to clean the storeroom, and it wasn't something she felt like tackling at the moment. She looked around, wondering where to start.

"Miss Granger, I recommend that you begin in the Potions Master's Quarters. You'll need to go to my office to access them."

Hermione whirled around, finally spotting him in a small frame that would typically have been behind the door. No wonder she'd never noticed it before—he always closed the door behind himself, and he was the last one in. Only a fool would dare turn around instead of facing forward in Snape's potions lab. He always waved the door open as a sign of dismissal as well. There was no time spent standing at the door waiting for it to open.

She nodded at him, and walked towards the door. As she tried to gauge how far she could open the door without it coming rudely close to his face, he slid from the frame again. While she was somewhat grateful that he was with her—after all, these had been his stomping grounds for nearly twenty years—she was somewhat unnerved by his presence all the same. He'd certainly not hid his distaste for her existence when she was his student, and now he was showing her the way to his former living quarters.

It was all really quite odd.

Regardless, she made her way into the office. While the atmosphere of this room was marginally warmer, it still had the same eerie, Snapishness that the potions classroom held to her. While there were two large leather chairs that faced the fireplace and a dark wooden desk that looked to be well loved, the walls were covered in jars of all sorts of revolting things. She tried not to let her eyes linger on any of the jars—that was a mistake she'd made once before. With a quick wave of her wand, she got a fire going, attempting to raise the temperature of the office in the damp, cool dungeons.

Above the fireplace, Severus Snape sat in a chair that Hermione quickly realized was the one before the fire.

"The personal quarters can be accessed by walking straight at that uncovered section of wall. The magic there is much the same as that at the Platform in King's Cross. But before you go poking around there, I want you to open the bottom drawer on the right side of the desk. Underneath a book on the mating habits of ashwinders, there is a box. I need you to open it."

Hermione looked at him hesitantly, but saw no sign of deception in his eyes. _Of course, neither had Voldemort._

She sat in the leather chair that sat at the desk, and took a brief moment to marvel at the craftsmanship of each. While she certainly would have classified Severus Snape's personal aesthetic as 'Spartan'—had she been forced to pick a word—this was anything but. The leather was soft and the wood of the desk was smooth and well oiled. Knowing that he was almost certainly waiting for her to do as bidden, she opened the bottom drawer on the right, and pulled out a simple, wooden box. The lid lifted easily, and there was a bundle of envelopes within. The top envelope was simply labeled 'To My Successor'. Meeting his eyes, expertly captured in oil, she ran a fingernail under the flap at the cue of his nod. Inside, were just a few pieces of paper covered in that familiar, spiky writing that had adorned a chalkboard almost daily for 6 years.

" _To my successor, whomever you may be—_

 _Rest assured, I have but a few guesses as to who you are. Once you've finished with this letter, there are a number of envelopes in the box. They are arranged in decreasing order of my faith in your abilities to handle taking over my role. I would certainly hope that you won't open any of the envelopes that you have no business reading, but I suppose I can't stop you. However, I'm hoping that a mix of a feeling of inferiority will arise at reading the names that I consider to be better than yourself, and the fairly nasty hexes I've put on them should keep untoward eyes out._

 _As of right now, I have every intention of returning to this office, to this school, and to one of my two positions here. In all honesty, if the danger abates tomorrow morning, as I certainly hope it does, I do believe that I would prefer to retake the mantle of Potions Master over that of Defense teacher. With luck, there will be no pressing need to teach you how to defend yourselves against an evil that I am familiarly acquainted with. If you are reading this letter, which clearly you are, then that means—equally clearly—that I have not survived the 'Final Battle', or whatever droll name you've all given it._

 _And so, I hope to be able to leave you with at least a modicum of advice to make your job somewhat easier. For all that you undoubtedly know about me, I am—or was, at any rate—quite capable of basic human emotions. Few things can be as challenging and strenuous as teaching, and it is one of my greatest regrets that I allowed myself to become so embittered as to be seen as little more than the devil incarnate by even my own allies._

 _All I can say, is that I hope you are able to learn from the mistakes that so many before you have made—myself included. This is, and always has been, a wonderful institution, but even those in employ here must constantly be aware of their own hubris._

 _That being said, best of luck. Go forth and read the names on the envelopes in the box. Think carefully about your placement therein—assuming you were even remotely capable in my mind of being considered—and look at those who are in the stack above you. Think just as hard about the names in the stack below you. Let this be your first lesson in hubris._

 _Severus Tobias Snape_

 _1 May, 1998_

Hermione folded the letter and placed it back on the desk, her hands shaking. He'd written this the night before he'd died. The night before Nagini had ripped his throat out due to Voldemort's crazed hopes that this would finally give him complete mastery over the Elder Wand. This letter was very likely one of the last things to be penned in his hand, and she was the one who was reading it.

Her eyes shot up to the frame above the fire, only to find the chair empty. He was gone. Probably for the best, she didn't know how she would be able to keep her emotions off of her face if she continued on. He was far more self-aware than any of them had ever given him credit for, and she had to wonder how much of his personality was natural to him and how much of it had been very carefully cultivated over the years.

She reached into the wooden box and pulled out the stack of envelopes, all of which were carefully wrapped in paper. She pulled the paper off of the outside of the bundle and was shocked at the name on the top envelope—the name of the person who Severus Snape had had the most faith in.

 _Hermione Granger._

…

Sliding one shaking finger under the flap to open the envelope, Hermione jumped and hissed when the fine edge of the paper cut the skin of her finger. She quickly sucked it into her mouth, reaching for her wand to heal the cut.

The envelope, which had fallen back onto the desk, glowed a light green for a brief second before unfolding itself.

 _Clever_ , she thought to herself. He'd placed some sort of blood magic onto the envelope to prevent the wrong eyes from looking in. If that was the hassle that he went to in order to allow the correct person to view it, Hermione had nothing but pity for anyone who may have attempted to open an envelope addressed to another.

Finger dealt with, she turned her attention back to the letter. Taking a quick glance at the portrait above the fireplace and finding it still empty, she began to read.

…

 _Miss Granger,_

 _No, your eyes do not fail you. No, I have not inadvertently put the letters in to the parcel in order of reverse preference. Were I to have had some sort of hand in the selection of my successor, not counting that fool Slughorn, you are the witch that I would have chosen._

 _Regardless of whether or not I survive the battle, I have no doubts that my true loyalties will come to be known. While I would have liked to have been able to teach a Hogwarts during a time of true peace, it may be for the better that someone besides myself will help lead the school out of the age of the Dark Lord's influence._

 _We both know that I was far from supportive of you when you were my pupil. There are a number of reasons for this, only some of them fair._

 _First, you know how talented you are. You do not require every faculty member here to talk behind you and constantly remind you of your talents._

 _Second, there were plenty of students to whom this knowledge does not come easily. You have a predilection for dominating classroom and conversation, and it is only by keeping you silent that some of your other classmates have an opportunity to learn and grow as well. Potter and Weasley could have been far more successful in their studies if they'd been forced to practice critical thinking and logical reasoning. You did them no favors by feeding them answers and drafting their assignments. I can only hope that this did not prove detrimental to them in the end._

 _And Finally, it would have done no favors to either of our personal safety if I had ever been seen to have favored or encouraged you in any way, shape, or form._

 _There is another reason as well, but I cannot put it into words for you here. You will come into the knowledge yourself soon enough._

 _Your abilities as a student and as a mentor to your classmates give me hope that you will be able to take on this mantle and bear it with at least a modicum of grace. However, if you're reading this at the intended time, then that would mean that you are still either eighteen or nineteen years of age._

 _I was twenty-one when I began this job. It is demanding, and it is difficult to jump in and attempt to be an authority figure to those who still remember you as a classmate. I am unsure as to whether or not it will be easier or more difficult for you given your status as a 'war-heroine', or whatever they've labeled you._

 _In order to deal with that pressure, I hardened further. I recommend you choose a different route._

 _After you finish with this letter you will need to clear out your quarters—formerly my own. Earlier today, I moved all of my things back in, so that when Minerva takes her rightful place in the Headmaster's office my things will already have been moved out. This means that you will be in charge of deciding what to do with my possessions. All of my belongings have been willed to my successor in the position of Potions Master, as I do not view myself as ever having been anything more than a puppet headmaster. That being said, you have the utmost discretion over what to do with everything in this office and the living quarters within. Keep what you'd like, destroy what you'd like, give away what you'd like._

 _The choice is yours—both in how to make this space yours and how to take on the duties that being Potions Mistress will entail._

 _Best of luck, Miss Granger. You'll need it._

 _Severus Tobias Snape_

 _1 May, 1998_

…

While she had no choice but to take his word for it, Hermione was nonetheless surprised to learn that she was—or would have been—his first choice for the position. While she did have some of—if not the very—best marks of the past few years, she'd never thought that would have been enough to outweigh his personal hatred of her. And even that didn't seem to have been as existent as she'd always assumed. Sticking that letter with the first and placing them both in the top drawer of the desk, she flipped through the remaining envelopes, curious as to who the other names were.

 _Draco Malfoy._

 _Ernie MacMillan._

 _Percy Weasley._

 _Dean Thomas._

Five. There were only five names that he considered capable, and three of them were Gryffindors. Draco Malfoy had the highest marks after Hermione, so she wasn't surprised in the slightest to see his name there, Ernie studied almost more than anyone else in the castle, Percy was a well known ponce who took his studies almost too seriously, and Dean was extraordinarily clever, even if he did hide that by horsing around with Seamus Finnegan too often.

While immensely curious as to the contents of the envelopes, Hermione knew far better than to try to open them, especially with the cut on her finger still somewhat smarting. She carefully fed all four envelopes into the fireplace, and sat back in the leather chair. Looking around the office, she realized that everything in her line of sight was now her own.

The leather wing back chairs. The wooden desk that was starting to smell a bit like cedar as the fire warmed the room. The rows upon rows of books lining the walls. The rows upon rows of horrible things in jars that sat above the books.

She smiled to herself and stood, crossing the flagstone floor toward the entrance to the Master's quarters.

It was Severus Snape's legacy, and now it was hers.


	2. Chapter 2

_Will you still love me_

 _When I'm no longer young and beautiful?_

 _Will you still love me_

 _When I got nothing but my aching soul?_

 _I know you will, I know you will_

 _I know that you will_

 _Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful?_

' _ **Young and Beautiful', Lana del Rey**_

Remus Lupin sat on a threadbare couch in the cottage that his parents had left him. It was an unimpressive place, surrounded by tall, dense trees. The war was over, and his closest friends all lay dead. He only had one hope keeping him sane as he was driven forward by events that had happened some twenty years in his past, and yet hadn't yet occurred.

If he closed his eyes, the wind whistling through the dilapidated roof sounded almost like her voice.

" _If you can wait for me, Remus, you can have me."_

" _I'll be yours again as soon as this all sorts out."_

" _If you want me when this is all said and done—if you can forgive me—I will be yours for as long as we both shall live."_

Stretching out to lie down on the couch, he threw an arm over his eyes to shield them from the sunlight streaming in through a cracked and dirty window. Of course he'd forgiven her, and of course he still wanted her. But he wasn't who she would have gotten used to him being.

He wasn't young any longer—not young enough for her, at any rate. The stress of the past twenty years and his lunar malady had ensured that he looked far older. A new web of scars crisscrossed his body, his finances were in dire straits, and he lived in the last of the ramshackle cottages that he'd lived in as a boy.

He still loved her with every fiber of his being, but he didn't know what he'd have to offer her when he finally saw her again. He'd been holed up in the cottage since shortly after the Final Battle, knowing that the time that he'd see her again would be drawing near. He'd been afraid to stray out much, knowing that he had to allow her to come to him. It really wouldn't do for him to run into her before she came looking for him. She'd told him that she'd come and find him, and he wasn't sure when that day would be.

But when it came, he would be waiting for her.

He'd promised.

No doubt she would recognize him as Remus Lupin, but would he still be the man who would give her a jumper three sizes too big when they went for walks in the autumn? Would she see him as the man who made sure she kept herself healthy when working herself into a tizzy? Would he still be the man who always tasted of chocolate and the air after a rainfall?

A tapping at the window caused him to sit up quickly, right hand quickly finding his wand. A quick flicker of hope ran through him. Was it her?

No. It was a nondescript barn owl, and he could tell from the envelope it held that it was from Hogwarts.

 _Soon_. _She'd call for him soon._

Unfolding the letter, he was pleased to see that it was from Minerva. He was glad to read that she'd been making progress in replacing staff, and that the reconstruction on the building was going well. And, if he would please, could he meet her for tea later that week?

He couldn't help but smile. Minerva McGonagall had always held a special place in his heart, especially after the kindness and generosity she'd shown him when he was a boy.

He quickly responded in the affirmative, and lay back down on the couch.

The memory of her hand in his hair, the timbre of her laugh, the glint in her eyes when he had teased her. No, it wouldn't be long now before he'd see the only woman he'd ever loved again.

…

Hermione looked around her new living space, mouth slightly open. She'd be grumpy all the time too, if she had to leave a room this comfortable and spend all day in the potions classroom.

It appeared that the fireplace here was somehow connected to the one in her office, as a fire was already roaring in the fireplace. Above the fire was yet another large frame, in which Severus Snape was watching her observe the space.

The floors were a deep, dark wood, but a large rug covered nearly all of it. A single chair sat facing the fire here, and the walls were once again lined with tall bookshelves. A quick glance told her that these books were of a more entertaining variety than the ones outside. A large collection of fiction and lighter reading, from both wizarding and muggle sources, adorned most of the wall space in the room.

Another desk sat in here, with just a couple of books and a typewriter on it. She was surprised to see a typewriter in Professor Snape's room, of all places. Walking towards it with the purpose of checking to see if it worked, she was shocked into stillness.

Next to the typewriter sat a cup of tea, infuser still lying on the saucer, and liquid up to the halfway mark in the cup. It was this cup that finally hit to Hermione the fact that these were _his_ rooms. His life was here. His past. What he'd expected his future to be. His cold cups of tea.

She walked over to the chair next to the fireplace and sat down in it, curling her feet up beneath her. She looked up into the painting of Professor Snape, mind whirling like a Dervish.

"Miss Granger, how much do you know about Roman history?"

She was surprised that he had spoken first, and even more surprised at the seeming non sequitur.

"Well I know a bit, sir. I'm not sure what you're really asking."

He gestured past her, and she turned in her chair. In an alcove facing the fireplace was a large statue, appearing to be Roman. "That, Miss Granger, is Septimius Severus. Do you know much of him?"

She wracked her brain, and was surprised to find herself at a general lack of knowledge. "Not much, sir. I've seen his triumphal arch in Rome, but I can't think of much having to do with his reign."

The professor nodded as though he had expected that, and rested on elbow on the arm of his chair, placing his chin on his palm.

"I can't say I'm surprised. Many don't know much about the man. However, I think you'll find this little history lesson to be quite… enlightening."

In the fervor since the war, it had been a while since Hermione had been able to just sit and learn. Despite his cantankerousness, Severus Snape was one of the most intelligent men that she had ever met. She was very much looking forward to whatever he had to say.

"Septimius Severus was born around 145 AD in North Africa, the son of a Roman and an African. He was intelligent and ambitious, and began his career early. In 193 AD he entered Rome with his army and disbanded the Praetorians, replacing them with veteran fighters and centurions from his own legions, making himself ruler. However, Severus had two rivals to his claim - Decius Clodius Albinus, a governor of Britannia, and Lucius Pescennius Niger, governor of Syria."

As Snape continued on with the story of Septimius Severus, Hermione found herself of two minds. One, she was absolutely fascinated by the historical aspect of what he had to say. But on the other hand, she could quite clearly see where this was going, and found herself getting rather uneasy.

"When he marched into Italy, Severus had declared Albinus his junior emperor, and thus was able to avoid conflict with him for the time being. Albinus and Severus, however, didn't agree on the amount of power that Severus ought to have, and Albinus only narrowly escaped being assassinated by one of Severus' messengers when he learned that Albinus was making moves against him.

"After a series of successful campaigns against Parthians, Arab tribesmen, and Mesopotamian people, Severus marched west and went against Albinus. The rivals fought an enormous battle, and while Severus' army was broken, Albinus' army became fatally disorganized whilst chasing them. Severus was able to rally his men who turned around and destroyed the pursuing soldiers of Albinus. Albinus committed suicide rather than fall into Severus' hands, and Severus became the undisputed master of the Roman empire.

"He was a brilliant man, a good organizer and administrator, and one of the finest military men of Imperial Rome, but also a brutal man, if not bloodthirsty. His wars and battles were characterized by vast numbers of casualties on both sides. He does appear, according to historical record, to have been a very capable and efficient ruler - if a cold one. Do you see my point, Miss Granger?"

Hermione nodded, her body feeling cold. In so many ways, Severus Snape's story closely mirrored that of Septimius Severus. She wondered how much of that was by design and how much was happenstance.

"How—how did he die, sir?"

Severus Snape chuckled wryly, a sound that she'd never heard come from him without any malice. "Surrounded by children, with words of the thing he loved most on his lips. At least the children on his deathbed were his own, and the thoughts in his head were of his Army, not of his wife, Julia. Now—I believe you have some moving in to do."

…

The next few days went quickly for Hermione. She decided to keep nearly all of Snape's books on the shelves, with the exception of ones that she'd already read or already owned. Rather than throwing those out, she simply boxed them up and banished the boxes to the storage unit which held much of the furniture from her parents' first house.

His clothing had been given to the house elves to use as they saw fit, with the exception of his frock coats. She had packaged those and stored them as well for reasons she couldn't quite identify. It just didn't feel right to her to throw away the item of clothing that was just so quintessentially him.

She was able to keep most of the furniture, as she thought it all fit quite well in the room and was all comfortable and well maintained. For not the first time since the end of the war, she was thankful that she'd moved back in with her parents instead of letting a flat somewhere—it was exhausting enough getting rid of what of Snape's things she didn't keep, and she had no idea how she would have dealt if she'd had a large amount of her own things to try to integrate.

It was the cleaning of the potions classroom that took the longest. She spent an entire day giving each cauldron a thorough washing. That needed to be done without magic to avoid contamination, and with multiple sizes of cauldrons and dozens of each size, it was no small task.

The books were repaired and stray marks all removed. At some point, the Half Blood Prince's copy of the book had made its way from the Room of Requirement back to the potions classroom. She made sure that this copy was relegated not to her office, but to her own personal quarters.

She had saved for last the task that she least looked forward to. The storage cupboard. With a carefully cast Bubble Head charm, Hermione checked out the room, dismayed at what she saw. The order that had been so carefully implemented and maintained during Professor Snape's tenure was long gone. While the shelves hadn't been trashed, _per se_ , Slughorn didn't seem to spend the same amount of time ensuring that all jars were stocked, the preservation spells intact, and in the proper place. Many jars were empty, many were in the wrong place, some completely without labels, and many showed signs of spoilage.

Another whole day was spent just on the reorganization of the cupboard, never mind the inventorying. Each jar needed to be cleaned, the contents checked for freshness, label rewritten, and then alphabetized according to type of ingredient.

More surprisingly, Professor Snape had made a habit of loitering around the frames in her quarters, office, and classroom. He made good company as she cleaned and sorted, making fun of her with surprisingly little animosity as she combed through all of the physical remnants of his life. While there was still a tinge of formality to their dealings—they were still 'Professor Snape' and 'Miss Granger'—there was a new joviality to their conversations that had been simply impossible when she was his student.

As she drafted a list of ingredients that she would need to buy from apothecaries, the list of ingredients to be collected from the forest, and the list that Professor Sprout could provide, Snape offered her tips on how and where the ingredients she needed could be found, and the best ways to harvest them. Some would need to collected at dawn, others at exactly midnight, and a particularly annoying one would need to wait until the third Tuesday in August at 3:19 pm.

Finally, the day came for her to make her way to the forest. She headed out around 9 am, a light cloak around her shoulders, leather gloves on her hands, and basket in arms. Snape had told her of a meadow towards the center of the forest that was filled with goosegrass and lovage. These were both best when picked before noon, and so she hoped that she'd be able to make her way there before the sun reached its peak. He had told her of a trail that wound toward the meadow, and all she would need to do was to follow it until the fork, then continue down the left side for another half mile or so.

She had spent very little time in the forest during the day, and was surprised at how different it seemed. It was more vibrant than she considered a forest called "Forbidden" to have any right to be. The leaves and the flowers that lined the trail lightened the scenery more than she could ever recall. Finally, she reached the fork in the trail and continued down the left side, surprised to see it make almost a one hundred and eighty-degree bend, leading her almost back the way she'd came, but at an angle close to parallel.

She was about to turn back and try to rewalk the path when it veered over towards the right, and she began to go perpendicular to her previous path. Feeling more confident in her ability to follow directions, she carried on. The sounds of the flora and fauna of the forest were loud in her ears, and she took deep breaths of the damp, earthy air.

As she passed over a root sticking up and out of the path, something unexpected occurred. All noise of the forest ceased. She hadn't gone deaf, she could still hear her own slightly ragged breathing and a high pitched ringing. There were no birds chirping, no footsteps, no scurrying, no scuttling. She took one hesitant step backwards, and the noise returned. Another step forward, the ringing returned.

 _Well,_ she thought, _Severus Snape didn't say anything about_ that.

She took a few more steps forward, when the wind picked back up, the force of it blowing her hair into her face. The ground began to shake below her, and she tripped over a rock, a branch, a root, a _something_ , and pitched onto the cool, hard ground.

From the dirt on the trail before her, a stone archway had appeared. It was completely free standing, but looked as though there once could have been some sort of structure based around it. Remembering Snape's repeated warnings not to deviate from the trail, she realized that she would have no choice but to go straight through it.

She took a step towards the arch, and the ringing in her ears seemed to almost get louder. Her legs were shaking, and for not the first time in her life she wondered why she'd been placed in Gryffindor. Knowing what Ron and Harry would have to say about that, she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

She needed to go through the arch. As soon as she lifted her foot to take another step in that direction, something hit her hard from behind. Eyes flying wide, arms in front of her to catch her fall, she flew threw the arch.

She did not land on the ground on the other side.

…

Within moments, the ground began to shake again as a strong wind blew through the trees. The arch crumbled into dust, and the wind scattered the dust to all corners of the forest. The noises of the forest returned.

…

Remus Lupin walked up the path leading from the main gates to the front entrance of Hogwarts. As he began up the front steps, the doors opened and his old head of house stepped outside. She stretched out her arms and pulled him to her.

She would never admit it, but Remus Lupin had been one of Minerva McGonagall's favorite students. She certainly felt for the poor boy due to his affliction, and had always been impressed with the way he managed to stay on top of his studies considering everything else that he was forced to endure. She ushered him up to her office and poured him a cup of tea.

Sitting in this office, teacup in hand, Remus almost felt as though he were sixteen again.

"How have you been, lad?"

Remus smiled at the woman who had been almost like another mother to him and drank some of the tea. Her Earl Gray had just a hint of lavender in it, and he had been unable to find any anywhere else with the same proportion of herb to leaf. Just the smell had memories rushing back to him.

 _Two heads bent over a desk in McGonagall's classroom, their hands next to each other on the table top. They were facing each other, and two matching teacups sat on the table between them._

 _Lavender and Earl Gray._

 _Their legs were so close under the table that he could feel her body heat. While his eyes continued to scan the book in front of him, he was too focused on her scent and the electricity between them to focus on the assignment McGonagall had given them. He looked up sharply when he felt the soft feathers of her quill tap the back of his hand. She met his eyes, gave him a brilliant smile that lit up her face, and then went back to her note taking._

"I've been… well, I suppose," he told his former coworker. "I've been making due."

She gave him a sad sort of smile, and he knew that her mind was heading down a path parallel to his own. "I'm sure that the waiting has been hard, Remus. I don't think that you'll have to wait much longer, now. I have a feeling that she'll make her way back to you sometime soon."

He chuckled and snagged a biscuit off the tea tray before replying. "Well thank you for the assurances, Sybil. How has business been since your rise in rank?"

Minerva shook her head and made a movement that could _almost_ have been described as an eye roll. "Business has been stressful. I'm still looking for a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, you know. All of the students spoke highly of you in the past. If it had been up to the students and the faculty, you would have stayed on board. We have a new Board of Governors, and I don't believe that they'll be a problem if you decide you'd like to return. I know I would be more than thrilled to have you back."

"Do you think that'll be safe?" He wanted to say yes—oh how he wanted to say yes. But he could still remember the looks of fear in the eyes of the Trio when Snape had stepped in front of them to protect their lives.

"I have no doubt that you will be able to manage your situation responsibly. I hired a new Potions Mistress late last week who I know will be able to stay on top of guaranteeing you have a steady supply of Wolfsbane."

He was nervous. He had almost hurt people in the past—people who meant the world to him. But if Minerva McGonagall thought he should come back, then maybe she knew what she was talking about. Anyway, Hogwarts was as good a place as any for _her_ to come looking for him.

He knocked back almost all of the rest of his tea before swirling the dregs in the cup and inverting the cup over the saucer.

"You know that's all claptrap, Remus. Whatever those leaves tell you, I know that you are a wonderful professor and the children would be lucky to have you. You've survived two wars—clearly you know something about defending yourself against the dark."

He sent her a half smile, turning the cup over and looking inside.

A chair. What looked like a frog. An ivy leaf.

 _An unexpected guest. Success stemming from a job change. A reliable friend._

He sent her a full smile, feeling ironically reassured, despite his skepticism in the validity of divination as an art form.

"Alright, Minerva. I'll do it."

She returned his smile, looking decades younger. "Oh perfect. I couldn't have hoped for a better outcome of this meeting. Now, before you head out, I have some prying to do."

At this, his eye brows shot up, a slight chuckle escaping him involuntarily. He was used to the headmaster of Hogwarts prying, but this was the first time he'd been given advance notice.

"How long has it been, Remus? How long since she left?"

He didn't even need to think about his answer.

"Nineteen years, come September 19th."

"Years went by, Remus, where I had thought she was just another casualty of that blasted war. Once I learned what had actually happened, or pieced together most of it, my relief for you was at the forefront of my mind. You deserve happiness. I've had the pleasure of knowing you for twenty-seven of your thirty-eight years. If any man I have ever met deserves that kind of love in his life, it would be you."

As Remus went to answer, a shrill whistle came from a clock on the wall behind Minerva. The clock was somewhat similar to that in Molly Weasley's kitchen, only this one provided the Headmistress with the whereabouts and safety of the faculty. The hand labeled 'Hermione Granger' began to spin wildly and showed no signs of stopping.

"Well Remus, I'd say that it looks like she's making her way _back_ to you. And did I forget to mention? She's the new potions mistress."


End file.
